Sex slaves in Nazi concentration camps: This is a “women's camp”, one of the brothels of the Third Reich.

The World War II It is one of the darkest chapters in human history. And, although much has been written about atrocities NazismForgotten stories from that grim time are still surfacing to help stretch memory, difficult but necessary.

Spanish writer and historian said Fermina Canaveras In his new book, Palace of womenOne of the decades lost stories about Spanish women Civil war In their country, they were taken prisoner and a Nazi concentration campWhere did they go? Forced into prostitution.

“I, Isadora Ramírez García, lost my name when I left Spain in 1939 with my mother, Carmen, and my aunt Teresa in search of my brother Ignacio, and I am going to tell you my story, Maria. So you know who I am, who your grandmother is, and who brought our families together during the Civil War and then tore them apart,” Canaveras writes, replacing her grandmother's voice.

And he adds: “You know my losses Inhuman pain And constant tears … and what happened when our fates parted and I I became one of the prostitutes in the Ravensbrück concentration campA place full of bridges and white doves, whose feathers became dirty with blood and sperm for two reasons: plain and simple survival and ceaseless fighting, with rare weapons, Fascism”.

In this historical novel published by Espasa, the Cañaveras begin with an original family history to unfold the darkest chapter of the 20th century. Palace of women Focuses on Ravensbrück, “the infamous concentration camp where thousands of women's lives were tried against,” and despite being a difficult and difficult text to read, it never loses hope, “singing again for freedom, women, the oppressed and freedom. Revolution.”

Dawn had begun, and they weren't done with me yet. They only gave it to me A black triangle, I had to sew my clothes and they took my photo to make it clear to me that they were going to turn me into a felt-hour. Later, the bosses divided us into groups according to our assigned color. About forty women were selected as prostitutes.. They took us to another room which was full of chairs. They forced us to sit down and other colleagues started combing our hair with very fine wire combs. Lice fell on our shoulders. They sprayed our head with insecticide, waited a few seconds, and operated again. Women with long, green hair were cut, but They didn't shave us, although they did it almost all the others. Peadad didn't keep her hair. You don't have to be very smart to realize that Those who were going to serve the Third Reich with our bodies, our hair made us more attractive.

When they finished tricking us, they made us another line. It was clear that from now on our lives would mostly go like this: making lines, taking rolls, being used. Slave laborWe sit or stand depending on what we need to do. The worst has happened to us whores: Most of the time I lie down, with my legs open, available for sex to anyone who wants to use them.

As I waited my turn, I heard a woman speaking in Spanish tell us that this treatment was even better and that they would certainly take us to serve in the houses of the SS superiors. “Poor innocent girl!” I thought. Of course, if I hadn't met Beatot, I would have thought the same thing. I approached her and asked her name.

– My name is Josefa Sanchez.

– Josepha, They don't want us to serve, they want us to indulge ourselves.

One of the guards, very kindly, asked her to accompany her to a small room. He told us, in perfect French, to undress and wait for the doctor. A humiliating gynecological examination awaited us., carried out in shameful and unsanitary conditions. Again they asked to form a new line, all naked, one after the other. Under his arm, a new uniform. There we saved our method.

When it was my turn, I lay on the stretcher, spread my trembling legs, and covered my eyes with my hands. I don't want to see. I noticed that my genitals were cold and hard. It plucked up the courage and, immediately, took a stab. I don't know what they injected me with. I don't know what the fluid they put in my sex was for; For a few moments I thought it was going to kill me, but it didn't make much sense. They did not cut my hair like the others, and the crows did not consider someone who was going to die, they already showed me with my mother. I didn't stop crying during the recognition. Dr. Ludwig Stumpbecker didn't care why I was crying, he was too busy with my genitalia. For him, my productivity came first and the rest was minor to him. He was a Nazi camp doctor and a lieutenant colonel of the Waffen-SS, the combat wing of the SS. We were all tested in the same role.

After the first insult was over, the same young woman who had accompanied us reappeared. He ordered us to get dressed and took us to another tattoo room. Prostitutes were given “privileges”.: They don't tattoo the number of your prisoners on the back of your forearm, like the rest of your comrades, but on your chest, clearly visible if you are naked and in the light, much harder to hide than on your arm, so no one will notice, what we were, what trash the Third Reich turned us into Forget that. Although it's not like I'm hiding it, I'm not ashamed. Some of the decisions I made later embarrassed me more than the letters written on my chest, Maria.

In addition to the number and the inverted black triangle we marked it as Feld-hours and went from there. It was big enough to see five centimeters or more without any problems. We were ready and signed up. We were already the whores of that concentration camp. I wanted it all to end. My chest burned, it was a deep and intense pain that would not stop bleeding. It was already ready to “connect the progs”, brutal and designed to impose submission and dehumanization on us. Your grandmother, Chloe, was not wrong, in part: she always told me that being a prostitute and serving were the same thing.

We were the chosen ones, and we went down in history as “socialists” because that was the name of the forces that established us. We whores of the Third Reich are going to give our bodies to the soldiers so they can enjoy it again and again.

Finally we reached what would be our new home,”Community Pavilion». A very large bunkhouse with wooden beds. The new ones were down, and our mattress was a fancy shriveled board, wet with blood and urine. In each bed, three prisoners. I moved in with Josefa and Vicenta. Next to our big new house was a brothel at number 27.